The Perfect Plan
by Kamilla Go-Go
Summary: It's St. Patrick's Day and George has decided to organize what he thinks to be the ultimate party... but Hermione's not really convinced it's such a good idea. George/Hermione, humor and a bit of fluff, written for the TE March challenge.


This one-shot has been written for the TE March challenge, my first entry (and HP fic) ever! Yay! Since I suck at getting ideas out of nowhere, I thought this was a good way to start writing in the HP world. Also, this hasn't been beta'ed, I didn't want to bother anyone with this... Though maybe I should've, since writing in English is always quite a struggle for me... Anyway, I hope there aren't too many mistakes; feel free to point 'em out, I'd sure be glad to correct 'em!

Oh, enough with the way-too-long introduction... Enjoy!

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Pairing**: George/Hermione

**Prompt**: Forest

**Theme**: St. Patrick's Day

**Quote**: "You're not the first."

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Disclaimer**: Nothing's mine except the plot and no money is being made from this. Harry Potter and all the cash belong to Her Greatness.

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"This has to be the most ridiculous suggestion of all time."

"Oh, come _on_. You know damn well it's the best idea you've ever heard!"

"I would surely agree with you if said idea included a traditional parade, a wild journey through all of London's bars, a trained leprechauns contest or whatever your devious mind can conjure. But since your plan doesn't include any of this, it is most definitely _not_ the best idea to ever present itself to me."

"Well, if you don't agree, I suppose it's because you haven't been listening closely. It's St. Patrick's Day! And what is the greenest thing in the whole wide world?"

"Ron, at the sight of a spider?"

"A forest! Ergo, we should celebrate St. Patrick's Day in a forest. Honestly, I don't see why you have to try and make three out of two plus two."

Hermione closed her eyes and heaved a long suffering sigh. Out of all the absurd schemes her friend could muster, couldn't it have _not_ involved her spending her first complete weekend off in six months, freezing her arse in a tent?

Sure, there was the fact that she would spend some time away with a bunch of her friends. And sure, one of these friends was George Weasley, the handsomest, most mouth-watering redhead to ever walk the earth - in her opinion, at least. Not to mention there would be drinking and playing games and loads of fun. But for these fine possibilities to become a reality, sleeping in the cold and uninviting wilderness wasn't mandatory.

"And I suppose that pointing out to you that no forest is green when it's below the freezing point, people are still ice skating and bears are hibernating because it's still bloody winter isn't going to make you change your mind?"

"Absolutely not, because it's completely irrelevant. What's important is that the _concept _forest is indubitably linked with the _concept_ green_._ The fact that the forest isn't green per se while we're camping doesn't mean my theory doesn't work. It's all a question of perception, see. And as for the cold factor, all we'll have to do is cast some warming charms."

"Really, George? You really want to do this? You really want to spend the whole week-end camping in a forest in winter because it is... conceptually green?"

"Well, sure I do! And you know what would be even better? We should only wear green clothes and eat green food! So, what d'you say, 'Mione?"

"Eating only broccolis and green beans for two days, uh? Even for you, George, that's pretty far-fetched."

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"I'm so sorry, I know I'm late!" said a frantic-looking Hermione as she apparated thirty minutes late to their camping site.

Her whiskey brown hair, though partially covered with a green hat, still found the way to escape and curl around her head in a crazy mess. "I couldn't find my sleeping bag, had to summon the blasted thing to finally extract it from some hidden closet I didn't even remember having...", she panted, still trying to catch her breath while buttoning her green coat with one green-gloved hand.

As soon as he heard the pop of her apparition, George raised his head and grinned at her from his crouching spot. "No problem! I'm glad to see ya, it was getting a bit lonely."

"Didn't the others arrive yet?", she frowned as she set down her bag on the ground beside him and what she supposed would eventually morph from a giant nylon slug into a decent-looking tent.

"Uh... You're not the first", he answered evasively.

"Who's here, then?"

"There's me."

"... And?", she prompted him.

"Well... that's it. It appears you weren't the only one who dismissed the conceptualisation thing as idiotic, but you are the only one who actually showed up... Everybody already had something planned out", said George sheepishly.

"You mean even your own twin didn't support your absurd theory?", she asked, unable to believe that the man was able to design a plan so asinine that even his other half didn't want any part in it.

"Oh, he sure did. Only Angelina had a more persuasive weapon than me. Whereas I only have mischief and mayhem, she has sexy lingerie. That's hardly fair."

"But what about Harry, Ginny, Ron and Luna?"

"Couldn't make it", replied George with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Mum ordered them to stay at the Burrow and help her with spring cleaning."

"Neville?"

"Had to correct Herbology essays during the week-end."

"Lee?"

"Seventh date with some gal, and he hopes to finally get in her pants. You know what they say about number seven being lucky...", he added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Lee, random woman, potential sexual intercourse. Right. So, am I to understand that you and I are the only ones attending what you dubbed "the biggest, loudest, most extravagant and sought-after party of the year"?"

"Seems like it. But, do not fear: even though everybody chickened out, I promise to keep boredom at bay and entertain you as you've never been before. Besides, may I remind you what a lucky woman you are to be alone with such a fine specimen of manliness as myself all to yourself?", he added while combing his fingers through his shaggy red hair and puffing out his torso a bit.

"Thanks, George. Otherwise, I might have forgotten, due to the overall disastrousness of our St. Patrick's week-end", she muttered.

She sat on a trunk not too far away, nibbling on a piece of green pepper plucked from her bag as she casted covert glances at her camping partner. Groaning inwardly, Hermione felt her desperation grow some more. She was trying to stay calm and act as if everything was normal: she participated in the usual friendly banter that had always seemed natural between the two of them and pretended to be annoyed by his exuberant behaviour.

But the truth was, a long time had passed since she had sincerely been exasperated by his antics. Sometimes, she found herself hiding a secret smile at some of his shenanigans. She even went from thinking of him as good-hearted, but inconsequential jokester to a brilliant, remarkable genius.

So, theoretically, knowing what a wonderful man he was, some time alone with the ridiculously attractive prankster was supposed to be viewed as a golden chance.

Theoretically being the key word. Because now that the opportunity had presented itself, she didn't know what to do with it. At all. Her treacherous mind seemed completely unable to elaborate anything resembling a well-ordered plan of action. And a planless Hermione Granger was a very lost and disgruntled Hermione Granger.

Hence, all she did was sit alone on a frozen trunk, munch on a pepper and spy sulkily on the inaccessible object of her desire.

About fifteen minutes later, George stood with his fists on his hips, proud as a peacock, in front of a miserably misshapen tent (although, from Hermione's point of view, it looked more like an interesting piece of contemporary art).

"Can a tent suffer from muscular dystrophy?", she quipped.

George raised himself to his full height, turned a haughty look on her and punctuated every word with a menacing wave of his index. "Do. Not. Mock. The tent. It has personality."

Unfazed, she simply rolled her eyes. "How come everything you do just plain wrong always have personality?"

"Because that's the truth. Why would I bother making up some clever excuses while it is true that this tent definitely has something special about it?"

"You know, I wonder why I keep trying to point out all the flaws in your logic."

"If you want my opinion, I'd say it's because you like to hear the deep, sexy rumble of my voice, regardless of what I am actually saying when I answer you...", he said with a knowing twinkle in his blue eyes.

"What?", she sputtered, her cheeks turning red instantly. "I am most certainly _not_ that desperate!"

He only chuckled, seemingly obvious to her embarrassment. "Ah! So you _are _desperate, then. Just... not that much? Slightly? Only a bit? On a scale of one to ten, let's say... six and a half?" Walking nonchalantly, he came to stand next to her while shoving his hands in the pockets of his green coat, a roguish grin playing on his lips.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! You, George Weasley, are the most obnoxious arrogant prick of all and I should hex your mouth closed forever so I wouldn't have to suffer from hearing you utter another stupid word", she fumed as she jabbed him hard in the chest, while trying to settle an inner debate between going on a verbal rampage, dying of complete mortification or snogging the git and finally get it over with.

But her threats didn't seem to make a really strong impression on him as he merely laughed softly. "Ah, but should you seal my mouth for eternity, how could I tell you all about my cunning plan?"

Still aggravated, she squinted her eyes at him. "What plan? The one where you drag me to a nonexistent party in the woods and you tell me that no one except us will -"

"Nah, not _that_ plan. I'm talking about the untold, very secret plan", he cut her off smoothly, still smiling his beautiful - no, _infuriating_ smile. "The one where I devise an utterly ludicrous and faux scheme only to get you alone somewhere I'll be sure no one interrupt us."

She crossed her arms and glared at him. How could he make a joke out of something like this? How abysmally insensitive...

"See, it's been quite a while since I've been working on this", he went on, ignoring her sudden quietness. "Remember the mundane evening organized for you and me at my flat, where all of our friends ended up coming because you asked advice on what to wear and they decided it would be fun to join us? Or the afternoon picnic at the lake by the Burrow last summer, when you invited Fred and Angelina to come with us on a whim? Or the dancing lessons I ended up giving to Ginny and Luna because you happen to hate dancing?"

"Yes?" she replied warily.

"Those are all examples of my failed attempts."

"Attempts to what?"

"To get you alone..."

"Why would you want to do that?", she sighed, getting tired of his game of half answers and feeling her latent headache ready to explode.

"Why? Because I've been dying to snog the living daylights out of you for months, of course."

She didn't have time to register his words at all. As soon as he finished his sentence, one of his hands reached up and tangled itself in her wild curls, knocking her hat off her head, while the other settled on her hip, and he was leaning towards her, and her eyes closing, lashes fluttering, and she felt the first soft brush of his lips against hers, lips that were a bit chapped because of the cold, but still felt wonderful and were so, so hot. And then his mouth started moving, and her arms moved out of their own accord to wrap around his neck, trying to bring his body closer to hers, leaving them feeling light-headed - from the jumble of their emotions or the lack of oxygen, neither could tell.

At the first contact of their tongues, he groaned and a soft moan escaped her as her knees gave way and only both of their arms, holding on tightly to each other, kept her standing. They kissed for what could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes, so lost they were in the pent-up passion they were finally able to release.

"George?", she murmured once his lips left hers for more than half a second, kissing a trail along the line of her jaw.

"Hmm?"

"How could you get our friends to stay out of our business, this time?"

"I asked them when they were free and chose the only day when they all had something already planned", he grinned against her ear.

A breathy "oh" was all the brilliant mind of Hermione could conjure at the moment, as George traced the shell of her ear with his tongue.

"So, do you still maintain that this was the worst suggestion of all time?"

Shivering, she answered loftily: "I guess the idea had some merit, after all..."

He chuckled quietly, stepping away from her and taking her hand in his. "Well, I'm sure I'll be able to convince you completely before the week-end's over."

"With your dazzling good looks?"

"Among other things", he winked as he dragged her towards their quite peculiar-looking tent.

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Thanks a bunch for reading; reviews would be much, much appreciated! I'll crowd your mailbox with unending letters of thankfulness and delicious cupcakes.

Happy (pre-)St. Patrick's Day!


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